but i think i'll miss this one this year
by spheeris1
Summary: AU :: Two-part fic :: Humor. Love, eventually. :: Shifting POVs :: Yes, this is a Christmas story. :: What starts off as bad only gets worse... :: Spashley. Pathur...or Arthla. And Glen. And Carmen. And a partridge walks into a bar. :: Title from a song.
1. Chapter 1

_How did we get here? _

_I mean, really... How did something that was suppose to be __**so**__ wonderful turn out__** so **__badly? Was it me? Was it you? Is it just fate, cruel and wicked fate, toying with us mere mortals - causing us to believe that this world can be good and better and nice... when that is anything but the truth?_

The only thing that is getting Ashley through this ordeal is the vision opposite her.  
Blonde hair. Blue eyes.  
And the kind of bitter scowl that is rarely seen in plain sight, the kind of fuming anger that could melt ice with its heat and intent.

_Oh. And the large stain of red on that fairly expensive-looking sweater helps, too._

Ashley can't help herself, she grins so wide it hurts.  
And then she leans back against the wall, crossing her arms comfortably in the process.

And, across the hallway, Paula Carlin's grim expression grows even harder.

/ / /

**(exactly four hours ago)**

"Did you burn them?"  
"No!"  
"But I can **smell them**, Ashley!"  
"Of course you can **smell them**, they are being baked! You know, that thing you do with uncooked stuff that you want to become edible-"  
"Look, just take them out and let them cool. They are **done**."  
"There's ten minutes left on the timer."  
"So? I did the toothpick thing five mintues ago."  
"Wow, really scientific, a toothpick... Hold on, let me call the newspapers, I'm living with the next Julia Child!"  
"You know, what the **fuck** is your problem?"  
"**My** problem?** I'm **not the one who can't chill the hell out,** I'm **not the one who has turned our home into a freakin' winter wonderland,** I'm **not the one-"  
"**Fine**. Whatever. Don't take the pies out, do take them out. I'm finished with trying to make this a nice Christmas for you and for my family."  
"Oh no you **don't**, you don't get to storm out of here, that's what **I** do!"  
"Where do you think I learned that little trick from, hmm?"

And Ashley watches, jaw clenched and way too many words still wanting to leave her mouth, as Spencer grabs a jacket, snatches the keys and slams the front door.

She stomps over to the stereo, which is playing 'I've Got My Love To Keep Me Warm' - which just pisses Ashley off more, so she pops the cd out and tries to break it.  
Which she thought would be easy and it isn't and that just adds fuel to the fire.

She finally flings it like a deadly frisbee and it lands in parts unknown.

After that, she walks back to the kitchen and opens one of the bottom cabinets, finding a mostly full bottle of Jack Daniels.

"Stupid **fucking** holiday, turning everyone into a **jack-ass**..." Ashley mutters as she pours more than she should into a heavy glass tumbler. She throws it back.  
And then she does another. And another.

The faint scent of crusts turning to charcoal tugs at her senses and she groans audibly.

"The fucking pies..."

/ / /

"You're doing this for your daughter, whom you love. For Spencer. That's who this is for. For Spencer. Whom you love. That's why you are doing this."

Arthur sighs to himself and rolls his eyes as he faces the door of the elevator.  
He loves his wife, he truly does, but she's got a bad habit of judging and not relenting.  
And of, apparently, talking to herself when nervous or anxious.

His gaze flicks over to Glen, who is leaning against the wall of this slowly moving box, his huge winter coat on and bored stare fixed onto some hand-held gaming system of some kind.  
The boy was what most would consider an 'adult', but still acted like an eight year old, goofing off and tugging on girls pig-tails and playing games.

Arthur wanted to tell his son to enjoy it while he could.

The wires jerk to a stop and Arthur turns around with a smile.

"Looks like we've arrived."  
"Whoop-de-doo."  
"Glen..."

Paula pushes past the both of them, barely waiting for the door to open, long fingers gripping the cassarole dish until the knuckles had turned a blinding white.  
The two Carlin men silently catch up, standing behind Paula as she raps on the door three times.

When a quite obviously buzzed Ashley Davies answers, Arthur Carlin finds a crazy impulse welling up in his body, telling him to run.

Run as fast as he possibly can.

He'll never understand why he didn't listen.

/ / /

"Hey, what are you doing here?"  
"Having a beer."  
"No shit, Sherlock. I mean, why **here**? Why **now**? Isn't time for your big, you know, Family Christmas Bonanza?"

The way Carmen said it made Spencer have two reactions - one of annoyance, at herself for running around calling this event by such a title and one of greater annoyance, at Ashley and her parents and the entire Christmas-obsessed world.

"Christmas can fuck off."  
"What? No Family Christmas Bonanza?"

Carmen smirks, but has to duck out of the way of some angrily thrown peanuts from one of the bowls on the bar.

"**Stop** calling it that."  
"But that's what **you** called it... and don't throw shit at me just because you aren't having your Family Christm-"  
"I swear, you say it again and I can't be held responsible for my actions."

Carmen holds up her hands in an effort to wave the white flag, leaning over and popping the top off of a beer as well, taking a long sip.

"So, what's up?"  
"I **don't **want to talk about it."

Carmen chuckles and Spencer glares at the woman.

"What's so damn funny?"  
"When you talk like that, you sound just like your mother. Very haughty."  
"Great. Just another thing to add to the list of horror that is my life."

Carmen grins and sips on her beer, chancing a small clink to Spencer's half-empty bottle.

"C'mon, spill. Why are you here and why aren't you at your place?"

Spencer heaves a sigh and runs her fingers through her hair, feeling everything weigh down on her and creating a nice headache at the back of her skull.

"Ashley and I fought."  
"...Over...?"  
"Pies."  
"Pies?"  
"Yep."  
"Oooookay... Um, **why**?"  
"She was going to let them **burn**! And I had spent, like, **three hours **making them. Not to mention the fact that** I **was the one who decorated the place and **I** was the one who did all the food shopping. All the while, she would just snark about this and that and I just **sucked** it up and didn't call her on it. I mean, I** know **she doesn't give a shit about the holidays, she thinks they are just here to make insecure people spend money. And I **know** she sure as** hell **didn't want to spend a second of Christmas with my family, but they are **my family**! I can't tell them 'oh Merry Christmas, love you, please don't come by!' Even if I want to say that, sometimes, I **won't** do that, you know? That's not the kind of person I am. I'm a **good** person. I try to make things peaceful and calm. I **try** to understand the fact that my mother is a bitch and she does not like the fact that I am with Ashley. And I **try** to understand the fact that Ashley really dislikes my mother and will walk out of a room if my mother is coming near it. But I **wanted** a good Christmas, like the ones I had growing up, dammit! And I **wanted** some good **fucking** pies to eat and now they are probably burnt anyway and it's all just **stupid**!"

Spencer takes a very long pull off of her beer, barely noticing the fact that Carmen is standing there - silent and staring, bottle hovering between bar-top and mouth.

"Did you take a single breath during that whole thing?" Carmen finally asks.

Spencer finishes her beer and motions for another one.

/ / /

**(exactly three hours ago)**

Ashley sits at the dining table, feet up in another chair, swirling the alcohol in her glass and watching it look pretty in the candle-light.  
Candles lit up all along the table, smelling like pine needles, and it is rather nice.

It's kind of nice and kind of perfect and she kind of wants to call Spencer and she kind of wants to beg the girl to come back.  
Not just to apologize either.  
But there is a certain buffer zone that is sorely missing between Ashley and the Carlin clan, which of course is usually Spencer.

Now, it's just an eerie silence.

"Have you even **tried** to reach her?"

Paula's voice shatters the awkward quiet. And Ashley is less than sober and that makes her less than caring about her actions, so she rolls her eyes.

"No. We both need to cool off first."  
"What if she is hurt?"  
"Why would she be hurt, Paula? We don't live in a **damn** jungle..."

That's when Arthur jumps in, hastily pointing to his plate.

"Um, this is really good, uh, stuffing, Ashley."

She waves him off with a lazy grin, ignoring the daggers coming from Paula's eyes and attempting to impale Ashley's flesh.

"I didn't make it, but I'll pass the compliments back to Spencer."  
"**If** she ever returns." Paula mutters. But it is a mutter that is meant to be heard.

Ashley sits her glass down and stands up on legs that feel like lead. She must have drank **a lot **more than she originally thought. But she is able to place both palms on the table and lean towards Paula Carlin. She'll give the woman credit, though.  
There isn't even a flash of worry or a flicker of backing down in that cold blue gaze.

Paula has eyes like steel. Spencer's eyes, though, they are not like that. They are like the ocean on a warm day or something else really poetic and Ashley finds her mind getting distracted.  
She blinks a bit and tries to regain focus.

"Look, she'll be back. We had a fight. So, you know, **don't** get too excited or anything."  
"Or maybe she has finally come to her senses."  
"I know you'd **love** that..."  
"I **would**."

Arthur pipes up once more, the look on his face being one of a futile sort of desperation.

"And these mashed potatoes! Just about the, uh, smoothest I've ever had..."

But he might as well have been talking to a wall.

Because Ashley is drunk and Paula is ticked off and there is a whole big pile of shit heading towards that fan.

/ / /

Glen stares really hard at his PSP Go, thumbs pushing down on various buttons, every once in a while stopping to take a bite of ham from his plate.  
He is no longer at the table, opting to slide over to the couch in the den-like area of this rather large loft apartment.

The louder things get, the harder he seems to mash down on those buttons.

He could have been in Florida, you see. He got an offer from a buddy at work and it sounded really nice - beaches and seventy degree weather and girls in bikinis - that's so much better than snow and ice. So much better than hauling a tree in for the folks and stringing popcorn for hours because your mother imagines she is Martha Stewart, so much better than whatever is going on about twenty or so feet away from him.

Still, the food is good. The ham is glazed with something sweet and his father was right - the mashed potatoes are like velvet.  
Still, Glen would rather be drinking a beer on a beach.  
Hell, he would settle for a beer out on the frozen stoop of this building if it meant he could successfully tune out his mother and Ashley going at it like a couple of well-dressed wild-cats.

His father finally gets a clue and escapes, giving up on trying to solve the issues between wife and daughter's girlfriend. Glen feels the couch shift and looks sideways at his father.  
The man's face is actually kind of funny, stuck in a state of bewilderment.  
But that fork is still moving at a steady pace, dinner not forgotten in the slightest.

They must have that in common.

Or, maybe, it's just their way of coping.

Who says that women have cornered the market in eating disorders anyway?

"This is a **disaster**." His father says and Glen sort of gives a snort of laughter, gaze back on his game.  
"Surprise, surprise."  
"If only Spencer were here, it wouldn't be so bad..."  
"Maybe she's had enough."  
"Of?"  
"Uh, I don't know, the beginning of world war three over there."

And they both surrepitously look over at the kitchen, where currently Ashley is jerking plates out of Paula's hands... only to have Paula jerk them back to her person.

"I mean, they are fighting over** cleaning dishes**. That's fucking nuts." Glen says quietly, just a bit fearful of what might happen if either of the women caught him talking trash.  
But his father just nods his head sadly in agreement.  
"It is kind of... strange."  
"Understatement."

The shattering of a plate or glass against the wooden floor startles the two Carlin men, both of them staring and waiting and muscles tensed in an ancient urge to flee danger.  
But they are both like statues on the couch, unable to move, unable to even breathe.

"This isn't good." His father barely whispers.  
"You ain't kidding." Glen hushes out, already thinking of ways to hide in another room or bolt for the front door.

And he isn't sure who started hating who first, who said that first biting comment, who caused this insane rift to spread far and wide, but it is about to explode and if anyone survives to tell the tale, it'll be a cautionary one, with the greatest lesson being so simple and so clear...

**Always** spend the holidays away from family.

/ / /

So, at some point, Spencer felt the anger ebb out of her system and that left her with just an annoying sense of sadness.  
An annoyed sadness at how this whole event, put together in an effort to reclaim some sentimental crap from years gone by, had fallen apart before it even started.  
She won't get to eat the food, at least not all piping hot and fresh. It will be leftovers by the time she gets home.  
And she'll have to clean everything up herself, because Ashley always makes up the stupidest excuses to not clean - **ever**.  
Her parents will be disappointed and Glen will bug her about not being there. Her mother, in particular, will probably use this as a reason to forever have Christmas at their house - which, in turn, means that Spencer won't see Ashley for any future Christmases.

And so it will all repeat. A vicious circle of red-and-green misery.

Beyond those depressing thoughts is something even more annoying.  
And sad. And frustrating. And capable of dragging her anger back to the fore-front.  
Ashley still hasn't called. Not one call. Not one chance for Spencer to see that name flash on the cell-phone screen and to ignore it and then, moments later, to listen to the remorseful voice-mail.  
Not even a damn text. Nada. Zilch. Nothing. At. All.

They are not a cookie-cutter couple. They don't always agree on things and they don't always see eye-to-eye. Sometimes, Ashley says the wrong thing at the wrong time and has to grovel. Sometimes, Spencer gets stressed out and lashes out and has to make it up to the brunette.  
It's just how they are.  
They are not perfect people. They are just perfect for each other.

And they fight sometimes. Dumb fights. Serious fights. Silly fights that then turn into much more playful activities and Spencer has to swallow hard because her throat has a lump in it, that feeling of sadness growing with each sip of beer she takes and the longer that Ashley does not reach out to meet her half-way.

She wants to get to the playful part, on this night of all nights, on this Christmas Eve that she tried so hard to make nice for everyone.

A hand squeezes her shoulder and she looks up into sympathetic eyes.

"No Ashley yet?"  
"No."  
"Maybe you should call her?"  
"Uh, no, **she** should call **me**. That's how we do things. She always makes the first move."

Carmen rolls her eyes as she lackadascially wipes down the bar.

"Wow, I'm glad I don't date. Too many rules to follow."  
"You wouldn't give a damn if you were with Ashley."  
"I guess... But, for real, if she doesn't call you... what then?"

Spencer sort of shrugs and sort of stares at her empty beer bottle.

"I don't know."  
"I think you are being retarded."  
"**Excuse me**?" Spencer's gaze darts back up and reeks of indignation. Carmen quickly removes the bowl of peanuts.

"Look, you want things to go back to normal, right?"

Spencer gives an affirmitive nod, going back to her staring contest with her bottle.

"Then just call her and say 'sorry I flipped out over the Family Christmas Bonanza, let's have sex now'."

Spencer's slow glare is like being caught by the laser-beam of a weapon and Carmen used to think that Spencer Carlin was a sweet girl - borderline naive even - but as of tonight, the bartender has had to revise that assessment.

Spencer Carlin is dangerous to a person's health.

/ / /

**(exactly two hours ago)**

She was normally a very calm person, very quick to not raise her voice and to not cause a scene. After all, that's how she was raised - you don't make a fuss and you don't go around shouting and you don't fight with other people.

If at all possible, you talk situations out and apply reason and come to some kind of satisfactory solution. And if you can't, then the best option is to walk away.

Normally, she would be keeping her lips sealed and her thoughts to herself, trying to remember the words of her mother.

_'Now, Paula, a lady always keeps an air of confidence and grace about her. Don't sully that.'_

Of course, Paula isn't sure how her mother would handle Ashley Davies.

Or the fact that her grand-daughter is gay.

Now, see, the thing about this whole matter isn't as black-and-white as one might imagine. Paula Carlin did, at one time, have an issue with Spencer - her one and only daughter - being gay.  
Didn't that mean no big white wedding? Didn't that mean a land of no bouncing babies to cuddle and spoil in her retiring years?  
But, over time, she got over this fact of life and accepted that being gay was a part of her daughter and if it came down to losing Spencer or keeping Spencer...

Well, Paula was all for keeping.

And it wasn't an idle, half-assed kind of effort either.  
She watched The L Word, she knows what is going on in the lesbian world now. True, she did not really ever want to know if Spencer was using a... you know, a _strap-on_... but beyond such personal matters, Paula Carlin is okay with the gay.

What she is **not** okay with is Ashley Davies.

Oh, dear Lord, the day she met this girl - late to dinner, smelling of cigarette smoke, insisting on asking for Spencer's 'help' in the bathroom while they all sat there and tried to wait on dessert out of politeness. It was not the best first impression, to be sure.  
But Paula gave Ashley one more chance, one more opportunity to seem like the kind of girl that she could trust her daughter's heart with.

And Ashley failed with flying colors. Paula doesn't even like to think of that dreadful night, which ended up with a drunk Ashley passed out in the back seat of the car.

She tried, in vain, to suggest that maybe Ashley was not the best choice.  
But Spencer, stubborn as a mule Spencer, just wouldn't listen. She tried to make Arthur talk to their daughter, but he insisted on staying out of it.  
She watched another season of The L Word and tried to fathom out the lesbian mind.

Ashley was like a more feminine version of Shane.  
And Paula wanted her only daughter with a Bette. Or maybe a Tina, if that character could ever get her act together.  
Someone with respect and someone with manners and someone who could help keep the house tidy. Ashley is not that kind of girl. Not in the slightest.

Like right now, Ashley should be calling Spencer. The brunette should be frantic that Spencer is not home yet, should be begging for forgiveness already, should be... should be...

_Should be letting go of this __**damn**__ plate before I scream!_

There they are, the two of them with soapy hands and Ashley too inebriated to back off and Paula quickly losing whatever is left of her 'calm' temperment - and the plate hits the floor and breaks into a million pieces.

"Great. Just great. Way to go, **Paula**."  
"**I** certainly wasn't the one who caused that to happen."  
"Really? Because if you would have just let me have the **stupid** plate, it wouldn't be **all over **the floor now."  
"Perhaps if **you** had just let me finish what I was doing instead of trying to **fight** me on it-"

Ashley throws up her hands in anger, loudly leaving the kitchen and Paula turns back to the sink.  
And Paula bites her tongue so hard that she is sure it will start bleeding.

_Confidence. Grace. Calm._

And she somehow stops herself from repeating that mantra that out loud.

/ / /

_Never. Ever. Again.  
Not for Christmas. Not for Thanksgiving. Not for a birthday._

_In fact_, Ashley decides as she looks around for the broom and dust-pan and can't find it and slams the door to the hall closet shut with force, _let's consider every day of every year to be a day that the Carlins and I do not interact._

Sure, she didn't **want** to spend the evening with Paula, but she could have managed it.  
It might have taken some drinking. It might have taken her sneaking off for a little while, just to the bedroom, in order to breathe more freely.  
But no, Spencer had to leave and they had to arrive and Ashley had to play hostess to a woman that cannot stand her.

_And the fight, don't forget the fight._

Which Ashley regrets already. She regretted it the minute Spencer stepped out the door. She wanted to call, but was waiting to be fully okay and so she wouldn't say something dumb and screw things up again.  
See, Ashley doesn't like Christmas and she says it is all about the fake cheer that stores push on shoppers, but it's more than that.

Christmas is a day meant for families.  
And Ashley's family is one big train-wreck, filled up with too many people who don't like each other and use this particular holiday to let loose with the verbal insults.  
And she became disillusioned with gifts and trees and fucking carols about sleigh bells.  
Christmas became that day where her sister would brag about her life on stage, her mother would get wasted, her father wouldn't show up - and if he did show up, it would be with some skank on his arm - and the countless droves of nameless cousins would make catty comments about everything.  
The Davies are a family of back-stabbers and ass-kissers.  
And Ashley didn't want to turn out like them, so she fled for the opposite of false sincerity.

It just ended up making her a bitter fucking cynic.

Well, except for when it comes to Spencer.  
She loves Spencer. A lot. More than anyone actually. And there are moments when Spencer is asleep and Ashley is late getting in from the radio station and she'll just hug that body close like it is the best thing since sliced bread.  
Which it is. Spencer is all the good things and none of the bad, at least that's how Ashley sees it.  
Even when they have spats and stew for hours, Ashley knows - without a doubt - that Spencer is 'the one'.

That fact didn't always sit well in Ashley's wary heart. But time and patience and talking and fighting and** really **good sex fixed up that stumbling block.  
And they are good together, they are** right **together... But Paula Carlin doesn't see things that way.

Oh, Ashley tried to measure up.  
That first dinner was important and she wanted Spencer's family to like her and she went all the way to some nice winery to get a bottle of merlot. She ended up stuck in traffic and chain-smoked due to nerves and was almost a hour late. One look into Paula Carlin's eyes told her that she was on thin ice.  
Which raised Ashley hackles, because she doesn't like to be put on probation for being late to a damn dinner.  
And the looks Ashley got when she asked Spencer to show her the bathroom were even worse! All she wanted was some advice on how to improve the evening, which Spencer responded to with that load of crap known as 'just be yourself and they'll love you'.

_Fucking fat chance of __**that**__ ever happening. It's been two years. I don't see things changing now._

And instead of a good meal with okay company, that she and Spencer could send packing after a couple of hours, she's searching high and low for a way to clean up a broken plate and Paula Carlin is washing dishes in her kitchen.

Not to mention that her earlier buzz is wearing off and she is getting one heck of a headache.

Ashley decides that this night is, officially, hell on Earth.

/ / /

It's a lot like being tossed into a lion's cage. Or falling into a nest of vipers.  
Or even trying beat crowds on Black Friday.

Arthur knows all about such things - he's been a married man for the past twenty years, he knows that getting between his wife and whatever she cannot stand is like asking for trouble.

But the way he sees it is that things are already bad.

How much worse can they possibly get?

"Paula, maybe we should go on and let Ashley finish cleaning up-"  
"She won't clean up any of this! She'll leave it for Spencer to do and she'll not apologize for it either."  
"But I think it is better for **everyone **if we-"  
"That girl, Arthur, I swear to you, she will **ruin** our daughters life. Do you want that to happen? **Do you**?"  
"**No**, but I really don't think that is the case. I mean, it** has **been two years-"  
"I just have to think that Spencer doesn't believe, for **some **reason, that she can do better. I'm not sure where this low self-esteem is coming from, she was always so sure of herself and didn't used storm off into the night when her family was showing up-"

A clatter upon the floor drew Arthur and Paula's attention. The metal dust pan sits there as Ashley angrily sweeps up the shards of china.

"Believe me, Paula, Spencer battles the need to run from you **all** the damn time." Ashley says with a tight grin, missing pieces of plate with every brush of the broom.  
Paula, with her hands in yellow rubber gloves, gesticulates with the dish-rag whipping through the air.  
"You **do not **know the first thing about Spencer and I** or **our relationship. She happens to** love **our time together."  
"Yea, okay, you keep telling yourself that." Ashley replies, her grin getting more smug.

Arthur hesistantly steps in between them, eyes going back and forth in an effort to keep tabs on them both.

"Okay, everyone just needs to calm down and not say things they don't mean... **right**?"

He looks at Ashley, but she just rolls her eyes and tosses the plate pieces into the trashcan.  
And his look at Paula is met with almost the same reaction, as his wife starts to irritatedly rinse out a glass.

"I mean all I say." Ashley smirks.  
"That's **so** good to know, Ashley. I'd like to be just as blunt if you don't mind." Paula retorts.  
"By all means. I mean, it's not like your in **my** kitchen trying to insult me or anything." Ashley snaps.  
"It's more Spencer's kitchen than yours. I know for a fact you don't **ever** cook her a meal or clean up after yourself. I'm surprised you even know how to get to this room." Paula says with a sneer, still washing and rinsing as she speaks.  
Ashley tosses the broom back, no longer caring where the damn thing actually goes, and gets in Paula's personal space.  
"Well, now that I've figured out where the kitchen is, **Paula**, I'd like you to get the hell out of it."  
But Paula keeps washing and rinsing and Arthur shoots a worried look over to the couch where Glen is - or, rather, where Glen was, but the boy has disappeared.

_Great. Abandoned._

"I'm not going anywhere until I know Spencer is home safe and sound. Unlike you, **I** actually care about where she is." Paula states, turning her gaze away from the dirty dishes and meeting Ashley head-on.  
And Ashley is practically growling. If it were a cartoon, Arthur is certain that there would be steam coming out of the brunette's ears.

So, he tries again. And, really, he shouldn't do so. He should stay back and let them duke it out, let them go completely crazy and be done with it.  
He could try to find Glen. He could roam the streets and look for Spencer.  
He could find the nearest bar and have a nice drink and watch a football game.  
But no, Arthur Carlin is the face of eternal optimism - he always believes that there is a way out of all bad moments, it just takes a willingness to try.

Of course, this is one of those times where he **should** have taken all that social-work lingo and shoved it where the sun doesn't shine.

/ / /

**(exactly one hour ago)**

Glen is in the bathroom, door locked, still trying to make to the next level of this damn game of his. And he has made a call or two, one to that buddy in Florida, just to add salt to the wound.

And he hears the voices getting heated.  
And he hears the poor and pointless voice of his father.

Glen shakes his head and goes back to his game.

/ / /

"Nope, that's your limit."  
"I've only had two!"  
"Yea... and that's your limit, Spencer. You cannot hold your alcohol, we **all** know this."

Spencer makes a sound that is somewhere between a grunt and a huff, both sounding highly offended.

"Whatever."

Carmen sighs heavily and, when Spencer continues to sulk, she reaches out fast and grabs the blonde girl's phone.

"Hey, give that back!"  
"Nope."  
"You little Latin **bitch**-"  
"**Not** the best way to win me over, Spencer."

The girl seethes and glares. Carmen matches Spencer look for look, though.

"**Fine**. What do you want?"  
"Call Ashley. Stop suffering. I mean, what if there is a reason she hasn't gotten in touch? What if she went out and got hurt or something?"  
"Hurt? **Ashley**? Ashley doesn't get hurt, she doesn't even catch colds. Besides, it's not like we live in the damn **jungle** or something."

Carmen rolls her eyes for the hundredth time this evening.

"Then** I'll **call her."  
"Don't you** dare**."  
"Then **you** do it."  
"...No."

Carmen cannot stand it any longer, so very glad that she never dates girls or gets involved with any of them - they are all certifiable and this whole fiasco just proves it to her.  
She slams the phone back down onto the bar and Spencer grabs it without comment.

/ / /

She'll admit later that it was a bad move. A really bad move. But in the moment, you see, it seemed like the best thing ever.

Lots of things are like that.

Like shots on a school night. Like popping a pill at a rave.

Like... _maybe rearing back your arm because you are going to slap your girlfriend's mother and your girlfriend's father is trying to calm everyone down and your elbow takes him out in the process._

She should have thought this out better, actually.

Arthur groans from the floor and his nose is bleeding and Ashley is sort of staring wide-eyed at the man, because she cannot believe that just happened and she doesn't really like the sight of blood. It kind of makes her sick to her stomach.

"You... you horrible... You **hit** my husband!" Paula screeches and Ashley shakes her head rapidly, not even glancing at the woman at the sink.  
"It was an **accident**!"  
"Oh, I'll show **you** an accident!"

That's when Ashley felt it like a shock to the system, all over her head and her chest, seeping through her shirt and sliding down her skin.  
Water. Soapy and overly warm water. All over her.

And there Paula stands, blue eyes furious, with a good size pot now empty of dish-water.

And it's probably another bad move, this course of action she races towards.  
But this one, oh this one, Ashley refuses to regret later on.

/ / /

Paula didn't have enough time to react or she would have hit the deck.  
But she was glaring at Ashley one second and then looking back at Arthur, sprawled out on the floor with what was starting to look like not just an injured nose but a broken one.

It is a flash of red that gets her attention.  
Lots of red, aimed right at her face.  
Cranberry and currant sauce to be exact. All over her face and slipping down her neck and onto her nice cashmire sweater.

And there Ashley stands, triumphant with a now-empty crystal dish in her hands, with a smile fit the devil himself on her face.

"Wow, Paula, red is such a **nice** color on you." Ashley coos with a nasty smirk on her wet face.

And Paula wants to rein in her rage, but it is not working.  
Not. One. Bit.  
She is about to fill that pot up with more water and Ashley is diving for the stove, where Paula fears that is some kind of gravy in a sauce-pan, when Arthur shouts from the floor where he is struggling to get up again.

"**Stob it**! Stob it **rwight now**!"

Of course, his nose is messing up the sound of his voice, but his intent is very clear.  
And Ashley freezes at the stove, hand on the pan.  
And Paula stays close to the sink, pot in the water but not moving.

And there's poor Arthur, wincing and looking extremely pissed off as well, leaning against the counter.

"No more **fwighting**! No more **foo fwying**! Just **stob** it!"

Ashley eases away from the stove and stares at the floor like a punished child.  
Paula clears her throat and lets go of the pot in her grasp.

"Now, subbody take me to tha hospiddle."

/ / /

She was ready to give in, her fingers hovering over that number, the top name on her list of contacts. If Ashley wasn't going to call her, then maybe Spencer would have to be the one to make the first move this time around.

_It wouldn't kill me. I guess._

Just as she takes a deep breath and prepares to start that familiar conversation of reconcilliation, her cell phone buzzes in her hand.  
And it isn't Ashley. It isn't even her mother.

It's Glen.  
She lets it flash and buzz for a moment or two, then sighs as she decides to answer it.

"Hey Glen."  
"Where **are** you?"  
"Look, don't give me a hard time-"  
"Well, you certainly missed a show, little sis."  
"...What do you mean?"  
"Mom and Ashley in fight to the death."  
"Great. **So sorry **I missed that then."  
"Well, there was an unintended casualty..."

And Spencer tries to picture it, the damage possibly done - Ashley all ticked off and taking it out on something, leaving an object fucked up. The girl had done it before with a laundry basket. Or her mother, talking without thinking or caring and hurting Ashley's feelings beyond repair, thus ending any chance of anyone getting along.

She swallows down the anxiousness, though, and braces herself for the answer.

"What do you mean, Glen?"  
"Ashley broke Dad's nose."  
"**What**?"  
"Hey, it was unintentional... But Mom didn't see it that way and poured a bunch of water all over Ashley, to which Ashley retaliated by dousing Mom with a sauce of some kind."  
"The... uh... the cranberry and-"  
"Right, the cranberry and currant sauce. It was good by the way."  
"...I don't even... I mean... I mean what the **fuck**, Glen? What the** fuck **happened? How did she...? And why did Mom...? Seriously, **what the fuck**?"

Glen's laughter is unbearably boistrous.

"I've never heard you drop so many f-bombs, little sis!"

She shakes her head and attempts to make sense of this Christmas Eve, of this dinner, of this whole night and how absolutely **wrong** it has gone.  
And she can't make sense of it. It's impossible.

"Where are you guys?"  
"At Wake Medical, in the E.R."  
"Is everyone there?"  
"Yep. Another cozy Carlin family moment."  
"I'll, uh, I'll be there in just a bit."

They hang up and Spencer sits there, staring off into space as other sorry folks with nowhere to go during the holidays stare off into space, too.  
Carmen finally returns after their minor cell-phone tiff, snapping her fingers by Spencer's ear.

"Hey... what's up? Didn't you hear me say your name?"  
"...Carmen?"  
"Yea?"  
"I want another beer."  
"Spencer-"  
"I'm going to need it, I **promise** you."

She meets Carmen's look full of warning and something must be in her eyes, something weary and to be understood, because the woman just grabs a bottle and hands it over.

"On the house, Spencer."

/ / /

**TBC**

_**PART II... COMING VERY SOON...**_


	2. Chapter 2

**Schmaltzy... But I needed a break from school stuff.**

/ / /

She drinks that beer steadily. And she doesn't answer Carmen's questions, even though she knows they come from a good place because Carmen is a good friend.  
Carmen wraps up her caring entreaties with humor and usually that breaks through Spencer's defenses.

But not tonight.

She is already frazzled from fighting with Ashley and knowing that her parents would show up and find Spencer gone from the very meal the girl spent all day preparing.  
And now, now she must snag a taxi to get to Wake Medical - on Christmas Eve, when the world comes to a stand-still and the E.R. will be stuffed full of a million other holiday mishaps, filled up with drunks and the cuts to their faces, with those who try to overdose and are dragged back to life, kids with early gifts that cause broken arms or legs.

Spencer sighs heavily at her own knowledge of hospitals, thanks to both of her parents, her mother being an OR nurse and her father working closely with at-risk youth.  
She knows all about sutures and stitches, where to put pressure and signs of depression, the sterile smell of a long hallways and even longer stretches of waiting and jello for meals.

The hospital has never been her favorite place in the world.  
And having to go there tonight is not how she imagined this whole affair playing out either.

_In __**so**__ many ways..._

But Spencer must call it as she sees it.  
It was stupid.  
Stupid to think that her mother would get over this weird snobbery towards Ashley.  
Stupid to think that Ashley could suck it up and not over-react.  
Stupid to think that she could just up and leave and drink at a dirty bar, pretending that this would all blow over.  
Stupid to want to have a good Christmas at all.

After the third taxi passes her by, which prompts Spencer to flip the last driver the bird, she decides to start walking.

_I mean, what's seven blocks? That's not so long... right?_

Of course, around the fourth block, Spencer cannot feel her toes too well.  
And that's because of the snow, that cold stuff that falls from the sky and that she normally calls 'beautiful'. And it is beautiful, when it is viewed from inside and she is cuddled up on the couch and sipping on hot chocolate.  
**That's** when snow is pretty.  
Walking in it to get to the E.R., because her father has a broken nose - _thanks to my girlfriend, no less _- in shoes not necessarily made for such trekking... Yea, at this point, Spencer has just found another thing to get pissed about.

_I'll probably need a doctor by the time I get there._

Spencer sighs, again, and keeps on trudging along.  
And she makes a solemn vow, one that she'll not soon forget, as her teeth chatter and her irritation flares back up - if it ever truly went away, that is.

_I will __**never **__celebrate Christmas again._

/ / /

"Spence is on her way." Glen states and that finally breaks the stare-off between his mother and his sister's girlfriend.

He watches his mother first, a flicker of relief flashing in those familiar blue eyes - the same ones that Glen sees when he looks in the mirror, when he looks at Spencer - and there is a subtle relaxation to his mother's shoulders.  
Not so raised. Not so rigid.  
And the same thing happens to Ashley, but it is more subtle and infinitely more complex.  
There is relief, but not of the same maternal vein. More like being at a party and knowing no one and then a friend finally shows up - it is the look of someone no longer feeling alone.  
Still, there is a tension in Ashley's gaze, which Glen attributes to the man down the hall and in exam room number two.

Glen studies the girl for a second longer, until Ashley frowns at him.

"What?"  
"Oh, uh, nothing."

They are all silent again, the sounds of phones ringing and pages going out over intercoms and crying children and snoring and such.  
And Glen had been leaning against the wall, but he decides to sit down beside Ashley.

"Did, uh, did she sound... okay?"  
"She cursed. **A lot**."

Glen smiles and Ashley sort of grins in return.

"Too bad I missed that."  
"Yea, well, who knows? She might do a repeat performance later."  
"I kind of hope not to be honest."

Glen glances at his mother and finds the woman looking away, quickly, as if caught spying.  
Which he guesses is just what his mother would do - anything to keep tabs on the person she considers to be Spencer's 'unfortunate choice of companion'.

His mother's words, not his.

Glen never did understand what the big deal was, why they couldn't get along or - at the very least - get over it.  
They both love Spencer. They love that little toe-headed sister of his like guys love being lazy and dogs love bones and... Get the picture?  
But maybe that's it, too.  
Maybe neither of them are good at sharing Spencer. Which is weird and dumb.  
But Glen supposes that there are stranger things that can happen in the universe.

_Like what happened earlier tonight for instance._

"I told her it was an accident. She knows you wouldn't hurt our dad."  
"Yea, but what I did to Paula wasn't an accident."

They both look over then, honing in on that large red stain and the sticky hints of cranberry-and-currant sauce that still lingers on the woman's neck, not wiped off well enough as they all bustled Arthur Carlin to the hospital.

"Well, to be fair, she **did** give you an impromptu shower in your kitchen."  
"...True. I just... I don't want Spencer to be mad anymore. Especially not with me."

Ashley's voice drops as she speaks, tone a little soft and a little timid and it's not a side that any of them has seen before. Not Glen at any rate. And certainly not his mother, who he is sure is still listening in from across the way.  
He reckons Spencer has seen this part of Ashley, though.  
And that's all he needs to know to offer up a confident reply.

"Ashley, she loves you, right?"

The girl doesn't answer, just sort of nods her head in agreement.

"Then it'll be fine. Besides, it wasn't **all** bad. The food was great."

Ashley rolls her eyes, but manages a smile and leans back once more against the wall, Glen following suit.

"That was all Spencer." Ashley murmurs.  
"I know." Glen responds.

And they wait for the girl to arrive, not sure when it became Spencer Carlin's job to keep them all together.

Just knowing that it is so.

/ / /

By the time she actually gets there, Spencer is **not **amused.

Her feet are frozen, just blocks of ice in her now-soaked shoes. And her hands, while not as cold since she managed to keep them stuffed into her jacket pockets, are still not feeling great and have that numb-tingling thing going on.  
She can feel the sudden warmth of being indoors, making her face flush even more - too quick from overly chilled to moderate heat.

And the hospital is slammed with people - white coats and blue uniforms, annoyed looking faces and tired glares. And her eyes dart around, searching for a member of her family or for Ashley, finding them at the far end of the hall.

She can see Glen messing around with his phone.  
She can see Ashley beside him, arms and legs crossed. And then she sees her mother coming out of a room further down, talking to a woman, both of them making hand gestures.  
And Spencer doesn't look forward to jumping into this mess, wishing she could close her eyes and make the night disappear.  
But that's a gift that Santa cannot conjure up - how would anyone even begin to wrap up the removal of events that have already taken place?

She takes a deep breath and starts rubbing her hands together in order to get some feeling back in them, walking and side-stepping others on her way to the drama.

Ashley happens to see her first, eyes doing that thing they always seem to do, a rare and simple shade of brown that turns lighter when it lands upon Spencer's face.  
This time, though, that fades and is replaced by concern.  
That's when Spencer realizes how she must look, red-faced and hair slightly wet from the still falling snow and pants legs damp near the ankles.

Her girlfriend is up like a shot and that's when Spencer's mother is made aware of her arrival.

"Spence...?" Ashley grabs those hands, gaze growing wide with the sensation of cold flesh.  
"I'm fine."  
"You're **freezing**. What the... did you** walk **here or something?"  
"Couldn't get a cab."

Ashley is looking put out by this answer, but her hands are still working over Spencer's, smoothing over the skin with force and pulling the blood back in.

"Why didn't you call me? I would have come and got you."  
"Ashley, I **know** you, you didn't drive here."  
"Well... no, but... Glen would have let me take your dad's car."  
"My mother wouldn't have let you."  
"Whatever. You still should have called."

And a part of Spencer wants to say '_**you**_ should have called _**me**_', because that is their deal with one another and Ashley broke the rules and a part of Spencer is still such a child and just likes being catered to.  
But the bigger part of Spencer is just too tired to give a damn.  
Ashley should have called her and they should have kissed and made up by now.  
Spencer should have called someone and let them drive her instead of traipsing around the city in the snow.

"Next time, I promise I will call you if I need a ride to the hospital to check on my father and any other bones of his you might break... **okay**?"

But Spencer says it with a smile and Ashley does that other thing she always seems to do, ducks her head in an adorable way - it says 'sorry' louder than any words ever could.

"Okay then." Ashley mumbles, now just holding Spencer's hands in her own.

You can't put off Paula Carlin for long, though. The woman is a force to be reckoned with and no one is a match for her.  
Except maybe the man in exam room number two.  
And even he knows when to give up and live to fight another day.

Her mother is all 'thank god you are here' and 'your father has been asking for you' and 'why didn't you come sooner?', dragging Spencer off with haste.  
But the girl turns her head to Ashley, still standing there in the hallway, and she winks.

When Ashley grins in response, Spencer knows it is all good.

_Well, as good as it can be on a night like this, but I'll take it._

/ / /

"Is still ah liddle sore but I feel gud."

Paula smirks, just the tiniest bit, at Spencer. The girl returns the gesture, patting her father's hand and sitting down beside him on the bed provided.

"I feel gud like I knew I wuld..." Arthur continues in a very drugged up, sing-song way.

Paula's smirk turns a bit softer then and Spencer emits a delicate ripple of laughter.

"What did they give you, Dad?"

But he just keeps humming James Brown and Paula watches as Spencer leans over, placing a soft kiss to Arthur's cheek.  
The best of the both of them, that's what Spencer is to Paula - all the good and none of the bad, the face of endless opportunity.  
Well, both of their children are like that, a wonderful light to look upon as the nights grow ever longer.

Paula is usually not this maudlin, usually a harder nut to crack. But it has been a long day and an even longer evening. There has been stress and fighting and she hasn't really eaten since breakfast and even with all her training as a nurse, Paula is still concerned over Arthur.  
He used to make such a scene when should would fuss over him back in the days when they were first dating.  
She supposes it was some bid at macho pride. Or a need to remain independent, to prove that he could manage if they were to ever part.  
Of course, Paula wore him down and Arthur Carlin learned the value of chicken noodle soup. And he learned the value of the proper way to treat a wound. Not to mention that with Paula's care came Paula's kisses.

_Yea, he learned to enjoy that bit as well._

"Mom?" Spencer's voice floats in and shakes her from this sudden reverie.  
"Hmm?"  
"Uh, can we talk for a minute or two? Not in here?"

Paula looks into her daughter's eyes, so much like her own, and catches the fleeting glimpse of solid determination in the irises. And she isn't **totally** sure what the talk will be about, but Paula Carlin is fairly certain that it has to do with the reason they are all here in a hospital right now, the reason she has a stained sweater, the reason Spencer was out in this weather for most of the night.

_Ashley Davies._

"Are you sure, Spencer?" Paula asks just the once, knowing that whatever happens from here on out will surely change things - for the better or for the worse.  
And this is not how she envisioned Christmas Eve going, not in the slightest.  
Instead of good cheer, it's been bad will. Instead of familial bonding, it's been all of them fractured.

To Paula's mind, all of this could be solved if Spencer would just realize that Ashley is not 'the one'.

But in those eyes, eyes so like her own, Paula knows that this talk won't be about leaving a brunette girl.

It'll be about the long haul and it'll be about if Paula can stand that fact or not.

"Yes, I am. C'mon Mom... it won't **kill you **to listen for a change..." Spencer says with an easy grin, already heading out the door.  
Paula walks over to Arthur, who is looking sleepy, and kisses him gently on the lips.

"I lub you.' He whispers, eyelids blinking slowly. And Paula smiles, probably the warmest smile she's got to give, practiced over the years for just one man.  
Her 'one'. Her own reckless wonder and good-hearted soul. The man that no one in her family wanted her to marry.

And no, the irony is not lost on Paula. Just conveniently misplaced.

"I lub you, too."

/ / /

Her mother insisted on getting hot tea, the cup almost nuclear with the heat it was putting out. But Spencer has to admit that it feels good against her skin and even better going into her body.  
Then her mother insisted on getting a cheap hat from the lobby gift store, which was still opening in an attempt to make money off the physically ailing on Christmas Eve.  
And it is a bright orange mixed with flamingo pink and the most ugly thing Spencer has ever seen, but it does cover her ears and Spencer knows that most body heat leaves through the head. So, she put it on and got over it.

Her mother is just being her mother, as always, eager to take care of her children - even if they don't want it. Jumping in with advice. Sending over baked goods.  
Spencer remembers all those crazy things that most people think just happens in television shows - you know, eat your vegetables and sit up straight and don't run with scissors - but that was her childhood to a tee.  
When she was a kid, it all seemed too much and annoying and it killed fun as quick as you could blink. But as Spencer got older, she learned that it was just one of the ways that her mother showed her love. It could be smothering sometimes, but it was never out of anger or spite.

And now they stand here, just outside one of the many doors, Spencer clutching onto her cup of tea and her mother's breath coming out like an icy fog from her lips.

"He'll be okay, right?" Spencer starts off simple.  
"Oh yes, he'll be fine. There will be discomfort and heaven help him if he has to blow his nose... but, otherwise, he'll be good as new soon enough."  
"Good. That's what I like to hear."

They smile at each other and Spencer takes another sip of her tea, watching the steam rise up and disappear. And she takes a deep breath, not knowing where to start with this conversation, just knowing that it has to happen.  
All the way here, between anger and being cold, Spencer tried to think of what to say and of how to put this whole rivalry to rest.  
She wants her mother's approval, sure, who doesn't want that?  
But she wants her girlfriend, too. She wants both and, if this is really the time for dreams to be realized and wishes to come true, then Spencer is sending a plea to up above and all points along the way.

_I __**want **__the rest of this holiday to be better. I __**want **__Ashley and my mother to get over this stupid... whatever the hell it is between them. I __**want **__to wake up tomorrow, on Christmas, and enjoy it._

See, the bitterness and the cynicism, that's not Spencer.  
Even when she is pissed off and wants to slap someone, those feelings eventually fade and Spencer is left being as she always is - optimistic and hopeful.  
That's how she is and she doesn't want to sacrifice that aspect of herself in order to deal with other people's shit. She almost nods to herself in that moment, like a kind of confirmation of what she has always known, still that little girl who is determined to get her way.

"You know, we are **so** alike sometimes..." Spencer says quietly and she knows her mother is watching, waiting, actually listening. Or, at the very least, her mother is trying to hear.

"...I must have gotten that stubborn gene from you, you know? Because Dad isn't like that. He goes with the flow. You and I, though, we get locked on to something and that's it. And that can be good quality, sometimes... but it can be a bad thing, too. It was bad tonight, Mom. I shouldn't have taken off like I did."

Spencer can see her mother about to jump in and defend a situation that she wasn't even a part of, so Spencer holds up her hand to prevent the words to come. And, this time, her mother refrains with a sigh and nothing more.

_Hey, progress! Maybe this won't be too hard after all._

"No, see, there is nothing you can say. I was... I was stressed out after cooking all day and with wanting things to be perfect, so I lashed out at Ashley. She was trying to help me and I know she hates this time of year, for her own reasons, but she did try and help. I just didn't **want** any help, which was stupid, so I took out my frustrations on her... and she did the same. And that's** normal**, you know? Couples do that. You and Dad do that. But I got locked on, Mom... I got locked on and took off and didn't make things right when I should have, didn't stay when I should have... Being stubborn just added more aggravation to this night, it didn't make things better at all."

Spencer takes a breath and another sip of her tea. Her mother clears her throat.

"May I speak **now**?" It is said with an edge of sarcasm, but not coldness, and Spencer sort of grins as she takes another sip of that tea and relishes the warmth.  
"Sorry, Mom, but you cannot. And that's because I **know** what you'd say... I know you almost as well as I know myself. Which is a scary thought..."

It could have been a harsh comment, but it isn't. Spencer smiles a bit more and her mother actually rolls her eyes.

"Fine, continue then."  
"I was going to anyway."

Now her mother is smiling fully and shaking her head, but staying silent. And Spencer looks out over the landscape of buildings, the patchwork of lights, the snow coming down around them. And she just allows the words to come out, a steady stream of her truth, hoping to paint a picture that even stubborn Paula Carlin cannot deny.

"I never told you about that first night you met Ashley. I never told you because I thought... well, I thought by this point, you'd kind of know her like I do. But the two of you are quick to judge-"  
"I am **not**-"  
"Hey, this is **my** time to talk, okay? So **shhh**."

Her mother crosses her arms and does a tiny bit of fuming.  
Spencer finds it funny.

"It's true, Mom. You make snap judgments and so does she. You are both fiercely protective of those you love, to the point of driving those you protect 'round the bend... but I know it comes from a caring place. The amount of love I get from the two of you, I mean,** everyone **should be so lucky... you know?"

Her mother looks almost uncomfortable, whether with the praise or with the similarities to her girlfriend, Spencer is not entirely sure.

"That night, god, she was **so** scared to meet you all. She wanted to impress you, which I told her that you and Dad wouldn't care if she brought anything or not, but Ashley got it in her head to get you wine and she was going to get you the best she could afford. Out of her love for me, Ashley wanted to give you something special. And, yea, it kind of didn't work out... but... you didn't even give her a** chance**, Mom. And that's just it... you **have** to give people a chance, maybe more than one, maybe **hundreds **of chances... if they are worth it. And Ashley is worth it, she is** so **worth it."

Her mother does not look too convinced, but the woman is still listening, so Spencer forges ahead - not defeated yet, not ready to wave the white flag.

"All the days you don't see her, all the times that you aren't around to run into that wall she's put up when it comes to you, she is... Mom, she is **everything** I've ever wanted. Even when you two are at each others throats, she is **still **who I want to wake up to and fall asleep to."

Spencer feels a smile tugging at her lips and can feel her mother's gaze lessen in its firmness, can tell that it is getting more tender and that gives her the push to keep going, to keep trying.

"She sings to me in voice-mails because she knows it makes me laugh. And she leaves me notes all over our place, sometimes about nothing at all, **just** to let me know she is thinking about me. Every night she comes home, the first thing I feel is her lips on my cheek and her arms around my waist. She holds on to me like I am all that matters to her and I won't give up the girl who makes me feel this way. I won't give up someone who would give me the world if she could... and I would think... No, Mom, I **know** that that is the kind of person you want for me. Someone who cares for me and loves me as much as you do."

Spencer blinks a couple of times, noticing that she has tears in her eyes, wiping at them with hands that are starting to get chilled again. And even her mother's stare is glassy and more open than usual.

"You could have been the kind of parent who turned me away, who treated me like crap, when I came out... but you **didn't**. You got over what you were raised to believe and accepted me for who I am and you meant it. Your love for me gave me a chance, Mom. And now I want you to step up and do it again, for me. I want you to stop doing this thing with Ashley and I want you to **really** try this time... because I love you both and, dammit, it's almost **Christmas** and... and I want it be... I just want it to be **nice**. For all of us."

Her mother sort of tilts her head in the direction of the inside of the hospital, eyes a tad downcast and voice quiet.

"What if, uh... what if Ashley isn't willing to try?"  
Spencer grins at that, with no note of doubt to her tone when she replies.  
"Don't worry. She'll be getting a version of this conversation later tonight."

Her mother laughs softly and meets Spencer's gaze, the two of them smiling at one another.

"You really are a lot like me, aren't you?"  
"Yep. Not sure if that is a curse or a blessing..."  
"Hey, young lady-"  
"**But** I'll go with blessing."

Paula Carlin reaches out then and Spencer steps forward, the two of them hugging and holding on tight.

"I'll try. I really will." Her mother whispers. "For you."  
And Spencer nods her head, eyes shutting in relief for the first time this whole evening.

"It'll be worth it, Mom. I promise."

/ / /

"Um...Ashley, sorry about that plate. And the, uh, water incident. That was uncalled for."

Ashley sits there in the Carlin backseat, beside Spencer, and with Glen on Spencer's other side. Arthur, doped up and blissfully unaware of life, in the passenger seat as the engine idles outside of the apartment building.  
And Spencer silently grabs Ashley's hand and gives it a squeeze.

Ashley isn't sure what is going on and isn't sure she should trust this situation. Paula Carlin doesn't **do** apologies. Paula Carlin didn't look sorry as that water went all over Ashley's head.

But Spencer, Spencer is letting her know that this is okay with that firm grasp to her hand, that sure hold in this brave new world where Paula Carlin shows remorse.  
And where Ashley can do the same, if she wants.

"Oh. Well, um, that's...okay...I...guess."

Spencer nudges her shoulder and Ashley rolls her eyes like a petulant child, but she gives in.  
She gives in and hopes for the best, not even caring if the woman ever likes her, but knowing that this matters to Spencer.  
And Spencer matters to Ashley. Spencer is kind of her world, if she is being honest, and if Spencer needs this, well, then Ashley will do all she can to make it happen.

"And I'm sorry for throwing that cranberry stuff on you. That was uncalled for, too."

Paula sort of nods her head and murmurs a 'thank you'.

And when they all part ways for the night, Paula wishes Ashley a Merry Christmas.  
And Ashley, still slightly shocked and still slightly wary, does the same.

But Spencer's smile is luminescent and it melts away Ashley's suspicions like sun to frost.  
This is why she can put it all behind her. This is why she can forgive and forget. This is why she can try and be kind to Paula Carlin and not shut the door in the woman's face.  
This is why she can set aside her insecurities and look a little closer at what she **has** and not at what she never had in her own life, in all those holidays gone by.

_And isn't that what Christmas is all about? Right?_

And they do have that talk. And Ashley listens, she truly does. And while she doesn't like being compared to Paula, maybe it is kind of true. Maybe. She won't admit that out loud, though.

When it is all said and done, it is officially Christmas and they finally collapse into bed, the events of the night leaving them more sleepy than usual.  
Ashley looks over at Spencer, the girl's eyes shut and clothes half off - legs bare and shirt still on - and she falls in love all over again.

"Spence?"  
"Hmm?"  
"I love you."  
"I know."

And Ashley leans over, placing a long kiss to Spencer's cheek.

"Merry Christmas." She whispers and the girl doesn't open her eyes, but Spencer smiles and pulls Ashley close, wrapping them up in the blanket on top of the bed.  
Those arms hold Ashley close and those lips find Ashley's, giving a sweet kiss, before a softly mumbled 'Merry Christmas, baby' drifts from Spencer's mouth.  
And over Spencer's shoulder, Ashley can see out the window and see the snow still falling down and life is pretty damn good.

Maybe Paula and Ashley will never be perfect. But they might get there, one day.  
Maybe Christmas will never be Ashley's favorite day. But it might get better, one day.

But there won't be a list for Santa to look over from Ashley Davies, no toys to leave under the tree, not this time. Ashley has all she could ever want in Spencer Carlin.

And that makes her believe that 'one day' will actually happen.

_You know, one day..._

And Ashley grins to herself, settling down within Spencer's embrace, and falls asleep.

/ / /

**:END:**


End file.
